


Spelling: A Lost Art Form

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Conference, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal Literally Tells Them What's Happened, Hannibal is Petty, Hannibal is smitten, Hotel Room Sharing, Humor, M/M, Might Be Crackish?, Oblivious Will Graham, Wine Sharing, somebody help Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Will Graham despises large crowds. Hannibal Lecter despises incompetence. Jack Crawford despises public humiliation and cheap coffee. All are in easy supply as the trio attend a simple FBI Conference that can only end in one way: Murder.Complete with wine-drinking, room-sharing, and Hannibal answering all of their pressing crime scene questions with some unique insider knowledge.Inspired by a recent Tumblr post  by @ishxallxgood about Mads Mikkelsen's name being spelled incorrectly on his own banner at the SVCC Comic Con.





	Spelling: A Lost Art Form

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/gifts).



> Hey, folks! I've been sick as hell the last three days, so when inspiration finally came back to me, I ran with it. 
> 
> I saw a post on tumblr, I'm trying to find the human who made it so I can link it here, where poor Mads' name was misspelled and it inspired me to write this. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“Gentlemen!” Will looked up at the familiar sound of Jack Crawford’s booming voice, putting a stop to Hannibal’s reassuring whispers for a moment as the man started towards them in the lobby. Will watched as the other attendees parted like the Red Sea to make room for him and was reminded that while he and Hannibal had significant pull back home, this was certainly Jack’s arena. “I’m so glad you two could make it.” He put a hand on Will’s shoulder, which he resisted the immediate urge to shrug off. “Doctor.” Hannibal, by difference, got a handshake. “They’ve got your nametags and information packets up here at the Check-In.”

He let go of Will who began following him reluctantly, letting Jack wade threw the throngs of people, trying to ignore the fact that people were quite clearly staring at them.

“People seem quite interested that we’re here.” Hannibal said, in his same slightly-amused tone that Will was finding increasingly infuriating, especially in public. Like he needed coddling and protected. He expected that from Jack, who at the moment was telling the woman at the reception table their names and information rather than allowing two grown men to check themselves into a conference like there was some fear that they might do it wrong and not be allowed to attend all of the disturbing workshops the next two days had to offer.

“I think they’re just…admiring…your suit, Doctor Lecter.” Will said, and half-expected Hannibal to never speak to him again. It was a very loud suit, to be certain, dark plum with a grey plaid pattern, a blood red pocket square with pin stripes and matching tie. While he was almost certain that was the reason the hotel concierge was staring at them, he knew Hannibal was right about the rest of the conference. The dozens of pairs of officer, agent, psychologist, investigator, and detective eyes that were following them were certainly a result of Jack announcing their arrival. He wondered how much peace they might actually get at this conference.

“I did wear it especially for this occasion.” To his surprise, Hannibal was smiling, eyebrows lifted, and Will almost wanted to roll his eyes at him. Doctor Lecter could peacock for these “important” people all he wanted, but Will would much rather take advantage of the bar.

“Okay, Mr. Graham?” The woman said, her voice thick as honey with a southern accent. She handed him a blue folder with his itinerary and room key. “And here’s your name badge.” He took the cheap lanyard from her, WILL GRAHAM in large block letters, SPECIAL AGENT in tiny ones underneath it, and a coupon for 25% off at the hotel bar printed on the back. He pulled it over his head, almost tempted to turn his name around, but Jack was watching.

“Thanks.” He said quietly and stepped out of Hannibal’s way.

“You’re welcome, hon.” She said, and Hannibal stepped up, holding his clipboard on one arm. “You must be Doctor Lecter.” She said, all the consonants in Hannibal’s name seeming to add an extra syllable. “I like that suit, lot more cheerful looking than all of these police.”

Hannibal tilted his head to acknowledge her, but Will was almost certain he could feel Hannibal nearly glowing from the praise. “Here’s your itinerary. And you two are sharing one of our suites, it’s got your key in there.”

“Thank you.” Hannibal said finally, diffusing the tension that Will inevitably caused by stiffening at the words, even if it was just an arbitrary reaction. He was used to sharing rooms with random people: Jimmy, Beverly, Jack, even Brian on one occasion that neither of them had enjoyed. And sharing a large suit with Hannibal would be fine, as long as he was sure not to make it too messy for Hannibal’s peculiar tastes.

“And here’s your name badge.” Will looked around the lobby, the stares finally dissipating, finding the marking for the opening convocation in one of the large ballrooms. He waited for a moment, expecting Jack to begin herding them, but nothing happened.

“Is something wrong, Doctor?” He turned around to see Hannibal staring at his name tag, the woman asking him.

“Yes, actually.” He said, “My name is spelled incorrectly.”

Will peeked over at the badge, which said DR. HANNIBAL LECTOR, and had to resist the urge to laugh a bit. Mostly at the look on Hannibal’s face, which seemed nearly incredulous with either barely repressed rage or disbelief.

“Oh goodness,” The woman said and tsked. “We had one of the institute interns do them this year.” She leaned forward a bit as if sharing a secret. “Not the brightest group of interns we’ve had, either.”

“May I get another one, please?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid not. We brought them with us, and can’t print more here. I can try to doctor it a bit for you.” She said with a smile, clearly pleased with her pun.

“No, thank you.” And Hannibal finally pulled the string over his head, letting the offensive nametag hit his chest.

“Alright, we’ve got seats reserved at the front.” Jack said, and as soon as he was in front of Hannibal, the nametag was quickly turned around and the 25% off at Belushi’s Bar was instead prominently visible.

 

Will had made the firm decision that this was the last of Jack’s shenanigans that he would be roped into, even if he was getting paid to be here. The workshops were things he already knew for the most part, the presenters talented but only half as smart as they thought they were. Even the technology and company fair was mostly fruitless as he had only managed to get a few useful free things from them. Normally he could restock his supply of reusable dog-food cups at these conferences so he could continue to tell himself it was worth it. People who visited, if any of those people existed, would probably be concerned at the high number of bug-decay and ballistic-damage tracking companies that his dogs got served their food from. But today he had only gotten some pens, a tube of white-out, a stress brick at a medical booth Hannibal insisted that they visit, and a single cup that would hardly hold enough food to feed anyone except Buster and was thus basically useless. Basically because he had managed to get the bartender to fill it full of coke instead of using one of the tiny mixer cups at the bar, and he could enjoy his coke and whisky without having to pay thirty dollars for it.

He was sitting in a back booth, head leaned back on the faux-expensive wood seats while the bar became steadily more and more empty as people retired for their early morning workshop starters. Jack had gone to bed almost an hour ago after insisting on buying Will dinner. He said he would have bought Hannibal’s as well, but after the end of their last workshop, neither of them were quite sure where the good doctor had gone.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Speaking of the devil, Will leaned his head forward to see Hannibal standing there, still fully dressed (though Will thought that perhaps Hannibal was only ever fully dressed).

“Sure.” He said, and took his legs down off the opposing booth seat, making room for Hannibal who he realized now was holding some sort of cocktail. A mojito if he wasn’t mistaken.

“I didn’t know you liked mojitos.”

“I didn’t realize I had ordered one.” Hannibal said simply, sipping at the drink after a moment. “I don’t think the man at the bar could quite understand what I was saying.” Will took a moment to look at him, and realized that Hannibal was having a miserable conference.

“Did they fix your name tag?”

“No. I went to inquire about it after our first workshops.”

“Is it that big of an issue?”

Will knew that what he said was certainly rude, and that Hannibal would see it as such. He didn’t react as negatively as Will though the might though, no down turning of his lips or slight straightening of his back like there usually was when Will was blatantly rude.

“A terrible thing, to have one’s identity ignored.” Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat, really wanting to laugh at the melodrama but not wanting to insult Hannibal further. Luckily, Hannibal’s thoughts were elsewhere at the moment, his eyes not even vaguely fixed on Will, though Will could see his tongue curling slightly at the mojito. It was probably the strawberry syrup, which he had seen coming out of a jug with a cartoon bird on the bottle behind the bar. The thought of Hannibal drinking it made him laugh suddenly, only a quickly placed hand keeping his sip of Coke in his mouth, but it did effectively get Hannibal’s attention.

“Is your drink deficient, Will?” In truth, Coke was Coke, and whisky, as long as it burned enough, really couldn’t be too bad.

“No,” He said, an idea coming to him. “Let me see your nametag.” He said. Hannibal hesitated, staring at him, probably trying to determine if he were drunk.

“I’m not the one drinking Roadrunner Mojito Mix, Doctor Lecter.” He said, and held out his hand. After only a second, and now his trademark think-lipped frown, Hannibal pulled his nametag over his head and handed it to Will who looked at it. He reached in the free, lime green tote bag (who had thought that FBI agents would want lime green tote bags of all colors?) he had on the seat next to him and pulled out his white out and one of the thick, felt-tip pens inside.

Before Hannibal could really react, Will pulled out the little named card and colored over the O with a thick coat of white out. He picked it up and blew on it, conscious of Hannibal watching him over the rim of his own mojito glass, his eyes hopefully more curious than angered.

He set the card down once the white had crusted over and took a long sip of both his drinks, picking up the pen. He steadied his hand, knowing his handwriting wasn’t the best to begin with, but made what he thought was a passable E.

“Here.” He said, “Now you can be you again and stop advertising that your 25% off to all the people trying to have an affair this weekend.”

 

He wanted to mad at the alarm clock for finally going off, but in all honesty, he was just relieved. He was certain Hannibal was as well, though his dark from didn’t move on the bed across the room as Will turned his off and stood to go towards the shower. He had set it for early enough to give them both time to get ready, particularly for Hannibal who he assumed had a much more complex morning routine than his own which consisted mostly of using the bathroom, showering, brushing his teeth and pretending to do something with his hair besides dry it. If Hannibal even shaved, his routine would consist of something more complex.

Will headed to the shower, luxuriating in the ridiculously large bathroom and taking advantage of the extra towels that had been left for them which totaled at about six towels for men who might use a maximum of four between them. So, he took an extra for his face, splashing cool water on his skin and wiping it out of his beard with his bonus towel, buttoning up his shirt in the long-length mirror.

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal’s voice greeted him as soon as he stepped out, the man standing, facing away from him and going through his overnight bag.

“Morning.” Will said. “I hung my towels on the rack. But the rest are on the shelf.”

“Thank you.” Hannibal said, and Will looked over at him, not really thinking about the fact that he hadn’t seen Doctor Lecter in pajamas before. They were surprisingly normal, and Will wasn’t exactly certain that he liked seeing Hannibal dressed as a normal human being, in clothes that resembled something that he might wear himself, a gray shirt, red plaid drawstring pants. It was Beverly who had pointed out there shared affinity for plaid, but Will had largely ignored her in one of his many attempts to appear surly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Did you hear me?” Will replied instantly, knowing he sounded defensive as he stuffed his dirty clothes into a plastic bag.

“Not a bit, actually.” Hannibal said, and turned towards the bathroom, carrying his things. “Though I must say, I didn’t have the occasion to hear you sleeping too much last night.”

“Long night?” Will answered, almost wishing he weren’t as much of an ass as he felt at the moment.

“I was more tired than I expected.” Hannibal admitted, “Though most of it I can only blame on myself. If I had retired earlier, I could have saved myself some of the struggle of waking early.” He said with a brief smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Will.”

Will nodded and took his wallet from the bedside table, pulling his lanyard over his head, letting Will Graham hang over his abdomen in the hope that it might at least keep more random people from approaching him. He wondered about Hannibal for a moment, trying to remember before his own alcohol induced sleep, what exactly he might have meant. By last count, the pair of them had gone to bed at the same time. Perhaps Hannibal simply hadn’t been able to sleep.

 

“What’s going on Jack?” Will walked into the hotel café to find everyone but Jack Crawford sitting where they could watch one of the small TV’s that undoubtedly showed Fox News when there weren’t a building full of government agents afoot.

“The Chesapeake Ripper happened.” Jack said bluntly, drinking long drags of black coffee from a cheap, chipped mug. Will sat across the table next to him.

“What?” Will said, worrying a bit because he didn’t really feel the urge to turn around to the television screen to see the gore that was undoubtedly there. “Who thinks that?”

“Typical MO. No traceable motive. No missing parts though, so there’s a chance their wrong.” Will listened and turned over another of the cups on the table, pouring himself some of the coffee that was surprisingly decent.

“If there aren’t the missing parts, what makes them think it’s the Ripper?”

“Oh, the parts were removed. They were just left at the crime scene.” Jack laughed, like he always did when he really couldn’t’ believe something. “Fingers, this time. Don’t worry, Will, we’ll get a fresh look at it ourselves when we leave here tomorrow. Katz, Price, and Zeller are on their way there now.”

Will said nothing, stirring in some of the half-and-half cups between them. “Doctor Lecter is in the shower. He’ll be down soon.” Will said finally, not really knowing what else to say. It would be too much to ask for a single weekend of peace, that was for certain.

“Well, hopefully he’ll hae a better day than yesterday.”

“From the nametag?”

“A woman in a workshop we attended also got him confused with Frederick Chilton.”

Will snorted into his coffee, hardly able to contain his laughter again when Hannibal appeared at the table about twenty minutes later, giving Will a concerned look as Jack filled him in on the developments.

 

The rest of the conference was a veritable Hell. As soon as word got around that the Chesapeake Ripper might have another victim, future FBI agents were on Will like flies on honey, wanting his opinion on everything from the fingers to the target, apparently a person actually on contract to the FBI for their internship program. If it was the Ripper, why leave the trophies behind? Was he doing it to taunt the FBI with all of them so close by? Did this provide any fresh leads?

It had gotten so bad that by the end of the final workshop, he had hopped on Jack’s invitation to dinner at a nearby restaurant (which he had originally intended to avoid) in order to get out of the hotel and away from the pseudo-polite questioning he was enduring at the hands of half-trained operatives. Unfortunately, an entire day of questioning had worn off on Jack, and as Will, Doctor Lecter, and Jack all ate a variety of steaks, Jack had questions of his own. At least, and Will thought it some small mercy, they were largely rhetorical.

“If it was the Ripper, why leave the trophies behind?” He said, cutting the end off a well-done Rib-Eye that was so thoroughly cooked that Will could have sworn that Hannibal had winced when it arrived. To be fair, Hannibal’s own steak was practically mooing, and Will wasn’t entirely certain that it was fully cooked, but the Doctor seemed to be enjoying it all the same, as much as Hannibal seemed to enjoy anything, which was with a largely quiet indifference.

“Perhaps he had no where to put them.” Hannibal finally joked, after Jack had voiced the question out loud a third time.

“Perhaps you’re right, Doctor.”  Said Jack, and he forked in his last bite of steak with a thoughtfulness that made Will worry he was genuinely considering the theory. If storage space had been the limit of the Ripper this whole time, then they would have been able to find some weird, brilliant loner renting a studio in the city center a long time ago. But he didn’t feel like interfering, and so he left it to Jack to continue to consider outlandish possibilities.

 

“I’m ordering a drink, would you like something?” Will looked over at Hannibal, who was unlacing his shoes, watching the evening news. “They have mojitos.” He waved the menu, earning a raised eyebrow look from Hannibal.

“I would do a nice dark red wine if they have one available.” He said. “It has been another regrettably long day.”

Will called to the front desk and order a bottle of wine for them to split, and a container of ice because he wasn’t trying to keep up pretenses and hated warm wine. When it arrived he paid a ridiculous amount for it, tipped an even more ridiculous amount, said exactly zero words to the boy who brought it up, and poured two glasses.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to relax this conference, Will. I can’t help but feel partially responsible.”

Will laughed, a little harsher than he intended. “Unless you spent a good part of the night cutting off someone’s fingers, it isn’t your fault, Doctor Lecter.”

“Of course.” Hannibal said, tapping his finger on his glass. Will looked over to see him mirroring Will’s own sitting position, center of the bed, with his long legs stretched over the duvet cover, arms crossed with the stem of his wine glass pinched between two fingers that let it rest on his arm. “I can’t help but feel it might have been easier for you to relax without my being here. I know you value your space.”

“I was worried about it.” Will said, and took a long sip of wine. “It’s been fine, actually.” He said, “You’ve been much better company than anyone else at this damn conference. You’d think it was a gaggle of sharks down there.”

Will didn’t miss the small smile that Hannibal tried to conceal behind his glass, either because Hannibal didn’t want to admit he found Will amusing, or because he didn’t want it to seem that he approved of Will’s cursing. “I find that is often the case at conferences. I often learn more from side conversations than from any workshop.”

“I felt like I was teaching again,” Will said, “Except instead of a classroom, I was in line to use the urinal.” Hannibal couldn’t hide his smile on that one, but he didn’t say anything. “You’d think I’d already caught the Ripper, from the questions they were asking me. I finally told someone that if she knew so much about the case file, she should talk to Jack and maybe they could generate some ideas together instead of her bothering me.”

“Uncle Jack did seem to have his hands full today.” Hannibal agreed, reaching over to pour himself more wine as the last bit of it swirled away. He gestured with the bottle to Will, who held out his near-empty cup for Hannibal to refill.

“Makes himself too available.”

“Meaning?”

“If you seem like you want to talk to people, they will talk to you every time.” Will said, “It’s how little children make friends at school, its how you meet people in bars. You just have to seem friendly enough and someone will approach you.”

“You don’t seem to mind this conversation.” Hannibal’s voice was nearly terse. He was testing something, tough what it was, Will couldn’t be certain.

“You’re not bad to talk to, Doctor Lecter. Unless I’m being forced to.”

“Fair enough.” Hannibal said, and took another long sip. “I enjoy our conversations, Will. I find them…enlightening.”

“Yeah?” Will said, and looked over at him, Hannibal blinking his confirmation. “You and the entire tri-state area today.” And Hannibal gave him a final smile before Will stood to start getting ready for bed.

 

“Did you put the wine in the fridge?” Will asked, packing his suitcase as Hannibal came out of the bathroom.

“I tried, but the refrigerator is quite small, actually. Very limited amount of space for the amount one would undoubtedly have to pay for it.” There was a twinge of annoyance to Hannibal’s voice about it, which Will thought was fair since at the moment it meant wasting nearly a quarter a bottle of delicious, yet still-overpriced wine. “I put it out for housekeeping to take on their late-night rounds. I can pay you back for it if you desired to keep it.”

“No,” Said Will, “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t leave it here for housekeeping to have to clean out of the room later.”

He zipped up his bag, noticing Hannibal didn’t ask about his sleeping because Will himself knew it had been terrible. He had seen strange things, dark swirls, nearly lost himself in the darkness of his own mind again. And he wanted to leave this damn conference, get away form here. “Jack has a car for me and him downstairs, we’re going straight to the scene instead of back to Baltimore.”

“I assumed that might be the case.” Hannibal said, and closed his own bag carefully, setting his things on the bed. “In that case, I will see you on Monday.”

“I don’t know if this is the Ripper, Jack. Seems too personal.”

“Certainly looks like the Ripper.” Brian said from the other corner where he and Jimmy were taking notes and pictures.

“This is personal. If it’s the Ripper, they’ve done something to upset him.”

“What could they possibly have done?” The body certainly had its artistic flair to it, set up at their former desk, floor and counter around them decorated in a stylized pattern. Their fingers were completely removed, clearly while alive, and laid artfully on the keyboard in the exact layout of a typing class.

“Typographical error, maybe?” Will said, but Jack didn’t seem to appreciate the joke, simply shaking his head and marching off to talk to the agents patrolling the outside of the office to prevent more press interference.

Will looked a minute longer at the person, wondering if it was their loose connection to the FBI that had done them in. Did they know too much? Did they know something? Looking at their fingers, nearly lifelike, he didn’t think that was the case.

There was something about this that did say Ripper. The flare for the dramatic, the complete lack of evidence. The non-traceable, indiscernible motive. But the parts were all there. It would be a huge change for that to have happened so late in the game, it would mean one of two things: The Ripper was evolving beyond perhaps the most important element of their identifier, or there was a reason they had been left behind, even though there had been every intention of taking them.

Will let out a long breath, wishing he could say with certainty. Then he laughed. Perhaps Hannibal was right, and the Ripper had to make a quicker getaway since he was low on storage space.


End file.
